Miss Y
by Cheshire-did-nothing-wrong
Summary: Everything was supposed to go according to plan, marry the doctor and become his housewife; as much as she hated the thought. However, after their son is proclaimed dead after being missing in the forest for weeks. Voices keep echoing through the hallways, things move, and Antonio seems to know more than he lets up, always keeping that rifle locked up after their son vanished...
1. Chapter 1

I know I should be working on Power & control but I got tho idea and couldn't pass up on it! This story (exactly like Power & control) is based off a song by Marina and the diamonds! Miss Y is a song by the lovely artist and you should check it out! Anyway, enjoy my new story!

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**_Miss Y am I here?_**

1940 Spain.

Chiara Vargas didn't even want to be in Spain when the air was still very thick with tension, even after a year after the Spanish Civil War it was still suffocating. It was worse than Italy, she had concluded, but it wasn't as tense as this. At least Italy was happy about their new leader, and here in Spain, it was sill divided. To support Franco or to not, that is the question, she mused.

"I'm jealous you're going to Spain." Felicia, her little sister said when Chiara was stuffed into a black shiny car. It was early in the morning, the sun hasn't even risen yet. The only light that was given was the street lamps and the almost full moon.

"You're getting married to a doctor!" Felicia said excitedly, apparently a morning person, even if it was one am.

"A doctor I've never met before, Feli." She scowled, rolling the window down to continue speaking to her sister. Her sister was petite and weak. She would need a man to take care of her since Chiara was leaving, Chiara didn't like to consider herself a woman; she preferred to be a man. She wanted to take care of herself and the people around her, but now she had to take the role of the woman. That house wife that did everything for her husband, cleaning, cooking, holding her tongue, asking how his day was, bidding to his every whim, staying home, taking care of his kids.

Oh yeah, that was the life right there.

"So what if it's an arranged marriage? It's been set years ago! Can't change it now."

Right. The arranged marriage between the Vargas and this Spanish family, the Carriedos. The Carriedo's younger son became a doctor before the civil war broke out, and a successful one too if I may add. They were supposed to get married four years ago but then the civil war broke out, so their wedding was pushed back for the time being. It was arranged at birth, Chiara was supposed to marry at fifteen years, when he was twenty one.

Now being nineteen and the civil war being over it was time to get that wedding up and running again. Chiara's parents were eager to marry her off to the guy once they heard he was a rich doctor (rich considering the war just ended).

"Yeah...I know."

The drive was going to be over 17 hours long driving from Rome to a small town past Madrid, nestled in a thick forest. Chiara dreaded the car ride, she knew she would die before they even reach the small town. She knew she would get claustrophobic ten hours into the drive.

"You better send me post cards, alright?" Feli demanded when the driver turned the car into life, Chiara rolled her eyes and nodded.

"Sí, sí, I'll send you post cards and letters everyday, alright?" Her sister beamed at her then stepped away from the car, shivering a little from a cold breeze. "Drive safe." She added and Chiara softened a little.

"I'll call you when I get to Spain, so stay awake and wait, eh?" Her sister nodded eagerly.

"Sí!"

Chiara prediction came true, halfway into the car ride she felt like she was dying. They were in France, almost to the border of Spain and it was pouring outside. She groaned and looked at the driver. "Hey, can you put put on some music, please?" She asked, resting her cheek against the cold glass window. The car was a bit cold and humid but she could manage. But she was going to die of boredom if there wasn't at least music playing to fill the empty air between her and the driver.

"Sí Señora." The driver flicked the radio on. "However Señora since we are still in France all we'll be listening to French music. Will that be alright?"

"Sí." She nodded. French music was better than silence, she supposed.

If it wasn't pouring outside Chiara would've stumbled out of that dreadful car and thank God they finally arrived at their destination. It was still pouring and she could barely see the warm orange lights that bled through glass windows.

"I will get your bags, Señora, you won't have to worry, I'll walk you to the door." Chiara hurriedly collected her things that she took with her in the seat. A bundle of books held together tightly with a leather bind and her most prized possession: a violin her grandfather gave her before he passed away, the violin was sealed tightly in its case. Her skin felt relieved when the driver opened the door, the cool air settling on her face. The driver held an umbrella over her as they made their way up the muddy trail to the house. Holding her bundle of books and violin to her chest they made their way up the steps.

It was pitch black around her and she couldn't even see the trees that must've surrounded the house. She anticipated for the morning where she could see the forest, she was used to the city life, honking cars, city lights, there was always a man made sound; and here, there was only rain and the sounds of nature.

"Señora." She looked at the driver, "I will leave you here, I will get your bags." With a polite nod the driver headed back to the car to retrieve her things. Chiara turned back to the door, taking a deep breath.

'Keep calm Chiara, you're just meeting your...fiancé." Hesitantly she knocked the door, not even realizing she was holding her breath until the wooden door swung open. The door revealed a tall tanned man, with brilliant green eyes and tousled curly brown hair, He was dressed in some black slacks and a white button up shirt. He brightened almost immediately when he realized who she was.

"Chiara?"

Her throat went dry. Well...she wasn't expecting him to be that attractive...um...wow.

"S-sí." She held he things closer to her chest, suddenly nervous. Why the hell was she nervous? Was it because she was expecting someone ugly to her 'rescue' during this time of war?

Yes. Yes she was.

God damn it!

"You must be Antonio?"

"Sí, I am! Please come in, before you catch a cold!" The inside of the house was warm and dry, contrasting to the cold and wet outside. The house seemed old but homey, something you would normally see from a house in the forest. "You must be tired from the long drive, yes?"

"U-um...¿Qué?" His fiancée blinked at him confused–ah that's right. She was Italian and probably didn't know a lick of Spanish aside from hello and you must be, the rest must've been gibberish. Well, good thing his parents insisted on taking Italian.

"Your fiancée is Italian, learn her language!" His mother had ordered.

"Sorry." He said switching to Italian, this made her look startled. "You must not know Spanish that well, right?"

"Yes," she tucked a curl behind her ear. "There was never a need for it unless you went south enough in Italy."

"Right. Well, as I was saying you must be tired from the long drive, yes?"

"Y-yes," she agreed relaxing, but only just a little. "But first things first, do you have a telephone?"

"Yes I do, why?"

"I promise my sister I would call her when I got to Spain."

"Oh! Well the phones down the hall to your left." He finally noticed the things in her hands. "I can put your stuff in the room...is that all of it?"

His fiancée shook her head. "No, the driver is bringing the rest from the car..." She paused as she handed her books to Antonio, still holding onto the violin.

"I can take the violin."

"I rather you not." Puzzled, he backed off as she held the violin closer to her chest.

"Do you play the violin?"

"Well I don't carry it for fucking shits and giggles."

Such a harsh tongue for a dainty woman like her, she looked pretty weak, like she couldn't fend for herself if she had too. He was startled by her mouth but didn't push it.

"Alright, alright, I was just offering. I'll help the driver, I'll put your stuff in your room."

"We aren't sharing a room?" She asked, peering up at him. She figured since they were engaged they would be sharing...a bed. Or was he just going to visit her, share a bed with her then leave her when they finished?

"Do you want too? I just figured you would feel more comfortable sleeping in your own bed until the wedding..."

Sharing a bed with a man six years older than her, it was a rush to Chiara, she wouldn't admit it but it was. She had never been kissed by an older man, never alone touched like that by one. She always wondered how it would feel...

"I don't mind." She said quickly. "We're getting married so we might as well." He nodded.

"Might as well." He agreed. "Alright, I'll put your stuff in our room then while you make that call."

She nodded and still clutching that violin case, she made her way down the hallway stiffly. That drive must've made her that way, he figured. He headed outside in the rain to help the driver.

Chiara easily found the phone and began dialing a phone number, yawning sleepily as it rung.

"Pronto?"

"Felicia," she yawned again. "It's me, Chiara, I'm finally in Spain."

"Oh! Are you at that doctors house?"

"Sí."

"Is he cute?" She glanced down the hallway to see Antonio had gone outside. Once deeming that the area was clear she said into the receiver:

"He's fucking sexy, and his ass, fucking glorious." Her sister laughed.

"I'm glad!"

"I am too."

After a brief conversation she told her sister she was exhausted and hanged up the phone, yawning again. She headed down the hallway, bumping into Antonio, who was drenching wet from the rain, carrying her luggage.

"Here, follow me, I'll show you our room, take your bag while I get the one the driver has." He gingerly gave her the suitcase and went back to the foyer, taking her other bag and excused the driver and closed the door behind him and locked it. "Okay Cariño, follow me." He led her up a flight of stairs, walking down a long hallway to the end of it, the master bedroom. As Chiara walked up the stairs and down the hallway she realized just how old this house way. It creaked after every step they took, and she could clearly hear the rain pour down onto the house.

"Here's our room~!" He said cheerfully, setting her bags down in the corner of the room. The room was large and connected to the master bathroom, there was a large king sized bed with curtains on the sides, giving it an old majestic look you could say. There was an old dresser, and nightstands with lamps on each side. A bed had never been so inviting before, she was exhausted beyond belief.

"Can we go to bed now?" She asked rubbing her eyes. "Oh god I'm so exhausted right now..."

"I believe you." He laughed lightheartedly, flashing a brilliant smile. "Let me lock up the house and I'll join you." She nodded nervously before stopping him.

"Wait, I wanna take a bath."

"Right! I'll show you how to work the bath really quick."

Soon Chiara was bathed and clean, dressed in a nightgown and was drying her hair with a towel, exhausted as hell. Antonio was in the bedroom changed and ready for bed, waiting for her to join him. Once she hung the towels up she left the bathroom, flicking the light off and padding to her to the bed. Antonio beamed at her as she sleepily slipped into bed with him. He turned the lamps off and settled into bed with her. With out even asking her he pulled her into his arms.

Chiara was too exhausted to even protest about it.


	2. Chapter 2

_**I'm about to play the game 'cause I'm runnin' out of time.**_

_**Drop your knees to the floor, hands to the sky,**_

_**Give a round of applause for the great Miss Y!-Miss Y Marina and the diamonds**_

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**1944, Spain**

**Three years into the war. Four years after the birth of Raphael.**

The strange occurrences started when Raphael turned four. In the first year of their marriage Chiara had gotten pregnant and on December 10th, baby Raphael was born. Chiara insisted on naming him after the famous Italian painter. Raphael looked exactly like his father and at the age of four he was almost a perfect mirror image. Aside from the eyes he inherited from his mother, a set of gold eyes.

He was a trouble maker and insisted on being independent from his parents. Raphael was everything to Chiara, she couldn't imagine how she was able to live life before Raphael (even only being 19 she couldn't help but get attached to him). Life without him now was unimaginable. Raphael had also taken Antonio's heart, it was obvious Antonio had always wanted a son and Raphael became the apple of his eye.

"Mamá, I'm hungry!" He had said one afternoon, it was June of 1944 and the radio was on, Spanish news filled the kitchen. All the windows were open since today was a fairly nice day. Chiara was cleaning the kitchen, listening to the news. Antonio had managed to teach her basic Spanish and was now able to communicate with the town beyond their small home.

"Oh, you're hungry?" She straightened up from scrubbing the counter, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "And what do you want me to do about it, mister?" Her son whined, running over to her and hugging her leg through her skirt.

"Mamá, make me some food!"

"Excuse me?"

"Mamá, make me some food, please!" He corrected himself, hugging her leg tighter. She laughed, and ruffled his curly hair.

"There we go! Was that so hard, hermoso?"

Raphael shook her head. "No Mamá."

"Now, what do you want to eat?" She asked drying her hands on her skirt. Raphael fisted his mothers skirt with his hands, peering up at his mom in thought.

"Hmmm...I want some chocolate cake!"

"Hermoso, we don't have anymore, you ate the last slice the other night, and we can't get anymore." Her son pouted.

"But Mamá..."

"I'm sorry, but you can't have any."

"Fine...I want a sandwich, please!" Chiara smiled and kissed his forehead. "Alright, you can play outside while I make your sandwich, I'll call you when it's done." Raphael nodded eagerly before rushing out the door to play. She watched him out the window before busying herself with making her son food. She paused however, eyes flickering to the stairs. She scowled.

"Good afternoon sleeping beauty." She turned back to cooking. Antonio stomped down the stairs, shirt tousled, pants wrinkled, a morning stubble evident on his face; he clearly was having a hangover. And he knew his wife was pissed off.

Hell has no wrath like a women's fury.

"I hope you had fun drinking last night with those friends of yours." She started off cooly, grabbing a knife to chop up some lettuce for the sandwich she was preparing. "That was fun waking up to you at one am, you woke Raphael up, took me forever to put him back to bed." Antonio ignored her making his way to the medicine cabinet, shoving past his wife. She hated him when he drank too much, he was a different person when he got drunk.

"Are you even paying attention to me?"

Again she was ignored, she felt her patience thinning down to a nub. "Answer me, Antonio."

"Seriously, do you ever stop talking?" He snapped at her after downing a glass of water with a pain killer. "My head is pounding and your annoying voice is making it worse."

"Not my fault you drank your heart out," she snapped back, "it's your fault your head hurts and I'm making it worse just by talking."

He dropped the glass cup into the sink, the glass luckily not shattering.

"You're so annoying, just shut up for once."

"I'm not cleaning that cup. Wash it."

"All you do is nag, and nag, and nag..." Antonio groaned out, he did not want to wake up to his nagging wife. Fuck, his head was hurting like hell...

"I'm not cleaning that cup." She repeated harshly. "Wash it."

"It's your job to clean, you wash it." Antonio's jaw clenched.

"No."

"No?"

"That's all I fucking do around this house! I take care of your fucking kid, this fucking house and what do you do? You get fucking wasted and come home angry!" She stabbed the knife down onto the wooden cutting board, furious. Antonio knew from the start that Chiara was an exotic bird that could not be caged, but there was times where she needed to realize being caged was good for her. It was only to keep her safe from the feral cats the licked their lips at her as they flicked their tails, watching her murderously.

"Oh yeah? Well I'm the one that works, I'm the one that earns money that plays the bills so you can call your sister in Italy, and that ain't cheap!" He retorted angrily. "I'm the one saving lives and you? You live off my money! Taking care of this house and my kid is you repaying me for doing all this for you!"

"As if I wanted to be married to you! Your mother was the one who wanted our families to get married, it was either me or my sister, and you got stuck with me!"

"I wish I got married to your sister instead! At least she isn't as bitchy as you are!" The world seemed to still at that statement, even the hungover Antonio had saw what he had done, his eyes widened. When they got married Chiara had confessed to feeling inferior to her little sister. Always being compared to her had destroyed her self esteem. She was okay now but it still hurt, and Antonio had promised from that day on he would never compare her.

He took a step as she stormed up to the sink, grabbed the cup and threw it with all her might, causing the clear glass to shatter upon impact on the brightly painted wall. She was shaking with anger.

"There! Now no one has to wash the damn cup!" She angrily grabbed the sandwich she had prepared for their son and stormed to the front door.

"Raphael!" She slammed the door close, the frame shaking at the impact; leaving Antonio with the shattered glass. Antonio swore he heard a woman's voice speaking frantically; but figured it was his wife getting their son. He felt slightly guilty as he marched back up the stairs to sleep away his headache, all the windows were open. Raphael must've heard everything.

The strange occurrences started out small, so small that could be easily set aside of forgetfulness actions and the thought, 'oh maybe Raphael moved that'. Now, Chiara was not a believer of the supernatural so she always dismissed it with logic but after a while she couldn't explain it. Once, she was cleaning around the house and had closed the curtains when Antonio had crashed onto their bed after a long night of helping a woman giving birth to a new generation of Franco's España. Child birth was a tiring process for the doctor and mother, especially when the mother went into labor at one am in the morning. When she returned to their room to hang up their clothes their curtains were wide open.

Antonio had whined out sleepily: "Why did you open the curtains?"

"I...I didn't open the curtains." She replied setting the freshly dried clothes on her side of the bed. "I was getting our clothes...maybe it was Raphael who opened the curtains?" Antonio rolled over to face her sleepily.

"Raphael is taking a nap right now, cariño." She paused and folded one of his shirts, glancing at the opened curtains.

"I must've opened them without realizing it then." She mumbled out not looking at him. This had been the most they had spoken since their fight the other day, sure, they still slept in the same bed but they hadn't had sex since then.

"Cariño..." Antonio began.

"What, Antonio?" She asked, viciously folding one of his dress shirts. She was obviously still holding a grudge on him for the fight. It showed by how suddenly hostile she was to his clothing.

"Look...I'm sorry for what I said the other day." He started out gently, he was tired of the silent treatment she gave him. He loved her smile and laugh, they way she melted into his arms when he returned him and gave her those bear hugs that secretly delighted her (he could read past that scowl). She still ignored him.

"Cariño..." He reached out to touch her arm but she pulled back, as if his touch would burn her flesh.

"Don't you dare touch me."

"Cariño, please." He begged, "I'm trying to say sorry, I didn't mean it..."

"You know you did." She stuffed his shirts into the dresser, slamming it shut. Antonio drowsily sat up, patting the space beside him.

"Sit here."

"No, I don't want too."

"Chiara, please. I'm begging you."

"I don't see you on your knees."

"Chiara–."

"Fine!" She stomped to where he was as sat beside him.

"Happy?" He smiled sleepily at her and crawled behind her, hands moving to her shoulders, massaging them.

"Antonio–."

"Sh-h-h, cariño, just relax." He started working on some knots on shoulders, making her relax. When he saw this he tested the waters by pressing his lips against the back of her neck. Pleased when she didn't give a negative action he moved his hands down her back. She soon became putty in his hands. Being a housewife at such a young age pushed her sometimes.

After a while he moved his hands to the front of her body, first on her stomach before moving them to where her chest was. This made her give out a soft whine of approval, now if he could just...his fingers went to the buttons of her shirt–

"Did you see that?" Chiara asked suddenly, pushing his hands away. Her eyes were locked to the door.

"See what?"

"Raphael's door...it opened."

"¿Qué?"

"I think someone is in the house."

Fuck.

Antonio cautiously pulled his hands away from his wife, slipping off the bed, he got to his knees. He leaned down and reached underneath to grab the rifle he hid underneath, just in case. Chiara tensed at the sight, she never liked the rifle underneath the bed. She always had a bad feeling about it...

"Careful." She mumbled out shakily as Antonio loading the rifle, as silently as he could. Chiara watched from the bed as Antonio crept to their sons room, aiming the gun. His arm relaxed as he motioned for Chiara to come over, deeming it was safe. She quickly rushed over to her sons room, to see Raphael playing in his room, he glanced at his parents, eyes wide an innocent.

"Daddy, why do you have that gun?" He tilted his head to the side, he suddenly brightened. "Are we playing soliders?"

"Rapha, was there anyone in your room?" Antonio asked, eyes flickering to the open window. Rapha nodded.

"Sí! Marina was in my room!"

"Marina?"

_La malinche?_

"What does she look like, hermoso?" Chiara asked as she walked around his room, trying to find said Marina.

"Well, she's very tan, much darker than you and Daddy! Also she had brown eyes, long black hair and has a pretty white dress! But it's bloody on the front."

"What?" Antonio and Chiara snapped their attention to their son.

"She said she got hurt really badly, but she's okay now! She said she hasn't been able to go home to wash her dress, says she's too far away from home." He shrugged. "Daddy scared her so she left using the window. That's how she gets in here."

"Marina is an imaginary friend." Antonio decided, Raphael had fallen asleep at eight and left Chiara and Antonio to talk. They were at the dinner table, the rifle placed in the middle of the table. "I've checked the all the way to the well, there's no 'Marina' nor a Mexican woman with a bloody dress."

"An imaginary friend then?"

"Must be." He sighed out, resting his chin on the palm of his hand.

"You're tired, you didn't get that much sleep, didn't you." It wasn't even a question. It was a statement.

"Sí." He admitted out tiredly.

"Go to sleep." She said standing up. "I'll lock up."

"Gracias cariño." He stood up sleepily.

"Take your pills too." She added, he nodded.

He was too tired to notice he had taken two pills instead of one.

When Antonio woke up the next day, he hugged his wife tightly, telling her that he loved her so much. That dream seemed too real, it was so vivid. He gagged at the thought of it.

* * *

"Did you hear that?" Chiara asked on a sunny afternoon, Raphael was on the floor playing with his toys while Chiara cleaned.

"Hear what, Mamá?"

"That voice..." Her head was pounding, she had to grip the counter top to keep balance.

"Mamá?"

_"Such a sad ending, only twenty three, she had so much ahead for her."_

_"Is he okay though?"_

_"In a coma, doctors don't know if he'll make it."_

_"He shot him up good."_

"Who's there?" Chiara suddenly shouted, gripping the counters edge tightly, balance wavering.

The voices giggled and vanished.

"Mamá?" Raphael said, more panicked. "Maybe it's Marina, is it Marina?" Chiara felt sick, fatigued, and her head was pounding. She shook a little.

"It was Marina." She responded shakily, "she came to say hello."

That day Chiara found all the curtains were torn down from the windows and neither her nor Antonio knew where they went.


End file.
